


An Empty World

by QueenoftheBritons



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Darkest Hour, Sad Merlin (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: Merlin's lost so many friends for his destiny already, his world becoming emptier and emptier.
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	An Empty World

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm bringing a new fic - a oneshot - to the table. I know I have a WIP that needs updating, and please do not worry about that because it will happen, but I was in the mood for some angst. This wasn't even supposed to happen, it just did and I am not ashamed. It's mostly just to experiment writing really, so it could be bad. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and if you do, smash the kudos button, and if you're feeling really generous you could leave a review? :)

_I look at you and I wonder about myself. Would I knowingly give up my life for something?_

Merlin sat alone, perched on the edge of his bed, in the same position he had been almost an hour ago. It had been difficult to find sleep, with too much on his mind. He remembered a time when it was a dragon’s call keeping him awake, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he thought of his irritation at the call. The smile easily, unconsciously, turned bitter, as he wished only to have that irritation keeping him awake now.

Now, the sun had barely risen, rays hitting the servant’s sore, burning eyes. The tear stains that ran down his cheeks were drying against his skin. He sniffled, fingernails digging into the hard mattress. He couldn’t remember when the crying stopped, nor even when it started. There had been so many intervals, so many pauses, so many hidden emotions, that he lost track easily.

It surprised him, strangely, that by now, he still had not become accustomed to death. In his village, Ealdor, his home, people had died. It was a different sort of death, here, though. Even here, Merlin had seen much of it. Far too much. He remembered all of them so vividly, at moments when he least expected, their faces appeared in his mind’s eye. Sometimes, he thought he saw them with him, in the room. He knew it was not true, though, because he could remember their deaths so easily.

Swallowing hard, he remembered again the dragon’s call. That night, when everything in his life changed. When he began to meet so many people, _extraordinary_ people. Then, as if scorned by his own magic, they disappeared. They gave themselves, to save his prince, to save him.

He shivered as daylight streamed through the window, the cold light of day reminding him that it was a new morning. For him, at least. This time, he lost Lancelot.

_You have to have a reason. Something you care about. Something that's more important than anything._

Merlin had had his reason: Arthur. His Once and Future King, who would bring peace and unity to Albion. His friend, though, too. His friend who could not yet know who he was, truly. The prince who would likely call on him soon, wondering why he was late this time. Maybe he wouldn’t ask, maybe he would know.

As blatantly blind as Arthur could be sometimes, he saw the sadness when it was there. Merlin, for his part, hardly did much to hide it. It had been a few days though, and he knew the prince needed him to be back to himself, his cheerful, affable self. A humourless chuckle left him, mocking him for believing that self of his might still be there. The things he had seen, things he had done, they changed him too much. His identity was truly unknowable, even to himself.

When he thought about Lancelot walking through the veil, looking back on it, he hated that, for a fleeting moment, he felt relief that it had not been Arthur. He _despised_ his mind for even having the thought for a second. He felt sick, that Lancelot should cause that relief, and that it was not Merlin himself to walk through.

He blinked softly, his eyes dry and uncomfortable.

Merlin had his reason. He couldn’t dare try to figure out Lancelot’s.

_Sir Lancelot, the bravest and most noble of them all._

_He was the most noble knight I'll ever know. He gave his life for all of us._

Frowning, he couldn’t help but wonder, had Kilgharrah known? When they had seen him that evening, could he see it? Was it always Lancelot’s destiny to give himself as a sacrifice, for a friend, for Gwen, or for Camelot? It seemed whoever the warlock got close too, they were destined only for similar things. Who would be next? Would he even be capable of feeling anything, then?

Everyone he could confide in, those he needed, who could _understand_ , disappeared _._ Who could see him for what he was, without judging, but showing awe in his power. His power, the one constant, the one thing that would never leave him, but felt now only as the source of his misery.

He felt a burning inside him, but couldn’t focus on the emotion. Sadness, regret, _anger_. Frustration that, despite the years he had been here, his destiny seemed further and further away with every step. With every _death._ Could he ever tell Arthur the truth? It hurt, that that was what it all came down to. Every _pointless_ death, forcing him only to confront his destiny, the destiny which was proving to be more harm than good.

_But your time among men is not yet over, Emrys, even if you want it to be._

When would his time come, then? How many of his friends, those closest to him, have to throw themselves away as sacrifices for _his life_? Lancelot had done it for him, he knew, and it pained him to admit it.

Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he yawned, wondering how many nights he would go through the same things. Why did he have to continue to suffer, with a constant dead weight in the pit of his stomach? A weight refusing to let him be the boy he once was, when he arrived in Camelot.

_What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?_

_Your gifts, your destiny are far too precious to sacrifice._

_I knew the price would be a heavy one … Her life has not been taken in vain._

Unfortunately, Merlin was beginning to realise his worth. If he left this world now, he could not protect Arthur. A difficult task, but the prince was his friend, and he would have walked through the veil as easily as Lancelot had. Unfortunately, Arthur’s friendship cannot make up for those lost. For those almost lost. For those who _will_ be lost. 

There were many who worshipped _Emrys,_ not _him_ , but Merlin was becoming less _Merlin_ these days. Was he becoming the Emrys he was born to be? He wore the same clothes, but they were the only familiarity he had with the boy he once knew. The boy who joked around with Will, who fell in love suddenly with Freya, who found the father he never knew. Now the man, who had now lost two close friends protecting him and his prince, who felt his love lose her life in his arms, who lost a father he saw himself in.

The melancholy he felt thinking of them caused great pain, but he couldn’t forget. When he smiled, a true beaming, toothy grin, the memories were still in there. Making him question the choices he had made, rushed decisions that had been true mistakes. His failures cost too many lives, and nobody could know.

_I'm glad you're here, Merlin._

There was a banging on the door, the servant hearing his name. It was only a moment before Gaius came to fetch him, telling him half apologetically, half cheerfully, that Arthur wanted to see him. He muttered something vaguely in response, and thankfully, Gaius let him be for the moment as he prepared himself.

Whistling out a long, slow breath, he let his troubles float away for the moment. It had been a few days now, and while the knights knew he and Lancelot were close, they could not imagine the true bond they had. The secret they shared in whispers. They all saw death so much, it was second nature for them to carry on, and whilst they knew and accepted that was not Merlin’s style, after a few days he knew he had to put on his mask. To face them all, to face Arthur.

_I just want someone to see me for what I am._

Arthur, his destiny. The one person he had to depend on, but could never share his full identity with, despite the physical aches it gave him as he yearned to do so. As he watched Arthur make mistakes, putting trust in the wrong people, he wondered, should he tell him?

Right now, it would be too much. Fresh after attacks from Morgana, another casualty of his failings, Arthur might not take kindly to his… friend? His servant, at least, admitting his powers. Merlin felt too raw himself to even tell him, and he worried if he did, would Arthur be in harms way, too? What would that knowledge do to the prince? 

No, he would stay patient. He would continue this path, this _painful_ , drawn out path that fate had kindly mapped out for him before his birth. An unknowing, confusing, bending path, that gave him no indication of which way to turn next.

The tear stains had dried completely now, with the sunlight beaming on his face. A new day, a new turn, a new road, the same unending journey.

_It will be an empty world without you, young warlock._

Perhaps. But it was an even emptier one without Lancelot, his friend.


End file.
